by Tricia Goyer
“I swar it, Parson, I ain’t done him no wrong. I’ve been minin’ my own land…I swar!”
“Please don’t swear, Horace,” Isaac whispered then glanced to his elder Milo, whose hand clasped the ivory handle of his parlor gun. A seasoned rancher, adept at dealing with hot-headed prairie folk, Milo would be quick to help settle the situation.
Giant Jim shook his head. “Not that claim—”
“Wait!” A woman’s voice screeched from the doorway behind them. “It’s me he wants, Horace. I’m the claim Jim’s talking about.”
Isaac glanced back, seeing the woman’s large frame silhouetted by the sunlight streaming in through the door. Mabelina Tigard, a woman of easy virtue and a sometimes visitor to church, stepped through the door. Strands of red hair escaped from a shabbily pinned-up bun. She straightened her tattered, faded emerald dress as she glanced around the room. Her jutting chin hinted of pride for creating the commotion, yet the timid look in Mabelina’s eyes as she stepped through the door told Isaac she wasn’t nearly as proud of her reputation.
“Mabelina,” Giant Jim yelled, “git outside!”
“Horace.” Mabelina threw her hand to her hip. “He knows about us! I told him everything. Just last night I told Jim I didn’t know if I could continue seeing him because you wanted to marry me.” She winked at Horace and bobbed her head, her gaze pleading.
Horace glanced up, his eyes wide as wells. “What’re you talkin’ ’bout, woman?”
“I told you he stole my claim.” Giant Jim pointed his thumbs at Horace and Mabelina. “Those two been fraternizin’ behind my back. I was gonna make an honest woman outta her. And he done asked her to marry him.” Jim spit on the floor. “That’s what I call jumpin’ my claim.”
Mabelina slipped her hand behind her back, and Isaac noticed a streak of silver.
A gun? Why does she have a gun? Isaac’s shoulders tightened as he remembered the rumors. Mabelina’s temper, it seemed, was often as fiery as her hair, and though she’d never shot a person, her bullets had shattered shot glasses, busted windows, and drilled into wooden ceilings in her effort to make sure she got her point across.
“Can you repeat that?” Mabelina tilted her head flirtatiously. “You were gonna do what, Jimbo?”
“You heard me. I was gonna ask you ta marry me, my little marmot, but then Horace—”
Horace squeezed Isaac’s shoulder tighter. “She’s as crazy as a loon!”
Isaac ignored Horace and focused on the two lovers. And the two guns. It was obvious Mabelina was making the whole thing up to unleash Giant Jim’s jealousy. And, Isaac guessed, to spark a fire under him that might spur him to a real commitment. Well, it had worked.
Isaac cleared his throat. He’d had enough of Mabelina’s drama. She may have merely been seeking attention from her man, but those were real guns and real bullets. If it didn’t settle down soon, someone would get hurt. “Jim, will you please put the gun down? Miss Mabelina still loves you, and Horace has made it clear he doesn’t want your claim. I’m sure you can work this out.”
Mabelina batted her eyelashes at Jim, a coy smile curving her lips.
Horace didn’t notice. His gaze was narrowed on Giant Jim’s barrels pointed at his chest. “I wouldn’t hitch up to that used-up ol’ cow in a million years. I’d rather marry my mule!”
Mabelina’s jaw dropped and her eyes bore down on Horace.
The saloon patrons hooted with laughter.
“Bet you would, Horace,” Jed Robertson called out. “You do love that ol’ mule of yours.”
Horace turned on them, a fierce glare shooting from his eyes. “Don’t be disrespectin’ my Ladygirl. Besides, I got me a wife comin’.”
“You been sayin’ that for ten years!” From his table, Warren Boyle smirked, apparently interested now. He finished his whiskey in one swallow.
“How dare you talk about me like that!” Mabelina’s face reddened to a shade just slightly lighter than her hair color. She stamped her foot and raised her gun above her head.
A burst of movement caught Isaac’s eye. Moving with the quickness of a man half his age, Milo jumped from his place on the bench and knocked the gun from Giant Jim’s hand.
Seeing his chance, Isaac lunged forward in an attempt to disarm Mabelina. Before he made it two steps, a gunshot split the air. As Isaac spun around, the Indian women screamed, a baby’s cry followed, and from outside a dog—Isaac’s black-and-white sheepdog, Calamity—yapped.
Isaac’s gaze jerked to the screaming women, and his heart clamped into a tight panic as he watched Elder Milo slump off his seat to the dirty floor.
“Mabelina!” Giant Jim dropped to his knees. His eyes drilled the redhead. “Why’d you do that?”
The woman gripped the pistol in her hand with two fingers, as if she were holding up a dead rattler, her face etched with fear. “I aimed at the ceiling. I just wanted to get your attention. I didn’t like y’all besmirchin’ my good name.” Her shoulders slouched. “It must’ve ricocheted.”
Isaac hurried forward and took the gun from her limp hand.
Chapter Three
Julia stepped into the backyard, sprawling compared to other gardens of New York City. The afternoon’s humid heat bombarded her like the worries in her heart. Since Mrs. Hamlin’s announcement this morning, Julia’s mind had swirled with questions. How soon was the wedding? What would happen to the orphanage? To her?
And especially, what was the purpose of those white dresses from R.H. Macy’s? They looked like traveling garments. Where were the girls going? To another orphanage? Mrs. Hamlin wouldn’t send them to a state-run facility in the horrid Five Points District, would she? Julia shuddered. Many of those poor children were abused and forced to work in the sweatshops. Some lost their lives.
And where was Julia’s dress? Not that she particularly cared if she received a new gown, but it was strange. There had been no package for her. Mrs. Hamlin wouldn’t give all the girls presents and exclude Julia. Not unless she had a reason. Oh, Mrs. Hamlin, what are you doing?
But the headmistress had swept out the door as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving her queries unanswered.
Julia peeked behind her at the handful of girls who followed in a staggered line, like ducklings following their mother. Julia loved her role as stand-in parent, and she knew her bright-eyed girls found stability and reassurance in her care of them, even if her efforts were far from perfect.
She wiped a drip of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Miss Cav’naw.” Beatrice tugged on her apron. “What I do? I help, too.”
Book lessons done for the day, garden duties now commenced. They’d weed and hopefully harvest carrots, radishes, and lettuce for tonight’s dinner. Although it was still early for the growing season, this crew of future gardeners could always uncover a good supply of ready-to-eat vegetables.
“Absolutely, Bea.” Julia tweaked her chin. “Why don’t you put the weeds that Shelby pulls into the wheelbarrow? Does that sound good?”
Bea nodded.
After making sure each child labored a proportion more than she played in the dirt, Julia strode to the small flower garden closer to the old stone house. As she dug her hands into the soft, moist soil, a thousand alternatives about their future worked through her mind. The headmistress’s plans mystified Julia, as her well-intentioned—though sometimes disastrous—plots often did.
Chuckling softly, she remembered the plentiful ways the woman’s love had bungled Julia’s life. Like the time she gifted Julia with music lessons from a woman who fell asleep in her chair as soon as the piano started plunking. One, two…snore. Or the time she trimmed eleven-year-old Julia’s hair so short that most people thought she was a boy. Yet, at least Mrs. Hamlin had a loving heart. At least she tried.
“Julia! Julia, dear!” Mrs. Hamlin’s musical voice summoned her.
Julia bolted upright, her eyes shooting toward the door. Finally, she’d get some answers. She
quickly brushed dirt from her hands and turned to the girls. “I’m going inside, my sweets,” she said. “Keep working. You’re doing a fine job.”
“We will, Miss Cavanaugh,” Shelby called.
Julia sent her a reassuring smile, knowing Shelby’s mind most likely spun with questions, too.
“Julia!” Mrs. Hamlin sang again.
“Coming, Mrs. Hamlin.” Julia scuttled up the steps to the back door. “I’m coming.”
Entering through the kitchen where two girls scrubbed the breakfast dishes, Julia crossed over the white and black tile into the lobby. The room was once a fine parlor in the home of a wealthy doctor. Mrs. Hamlin sat on the burgundy floral settee. The tall, arched window behind her seemed to protect those inside and welcome the lonely. Next to Mrs. Hamlin’s feet sat a large box wrapped in brown paper.
“Come here, my darling.” She opened her arms, beseeching her for an embrace.
Julia gladly accepted, cherishing the love of this woman who was not her mother but was the nearest semblance she’d known for the past eight years. She took in Mrs. Hamlin’s sweet smell of rosewater and relished the feel of her cotton shirtwaist.
Mrs. Hamlin gently rocked Julia as if she were holding a baby. “I know this is hard for you.” Her voice quivered as emotion burbled toward the surface. “I love you, my dear, dear girl.” Then she gripped her even tighter, squeezing Julia’s breath away.
Mrs. Hamlin finally let go, and Julia sucked in air.
“I love you, too.” Julia smiled. “Even if you do choke me with those mighty hugs.”
“Now, my dear.” Mrs. Hamlin jiggled as she sat up straighter. “We have a lot to talk about.”
The scent of freshly planted roses outside the window, mingling with the faint waft of smoke from factories and trash barrel fires, reminded Julia of how glad she’d been to live and work here—distant from the bleak life faced by many orphans housed in the downtown asylums.
Julia tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I’m glad. I have so many questions.”
Mrs. Hamlin tilted her head and sandwiched Julia’s hand between hers. “Of course, you poor dear. You’re probably wondering how it came about that I got engaged.”
Fear of having to listen to one of Mrs. Hamlin’s long and shifting stories gripped Julia. “Mrs. Hamlin—”
The headmistress smoothed her dress and adjusted in her seat. “Our story beats all—how we fell in love. How hard it was to keep it a secret. But Mr. Gaffin insisted, saying it would worry you if you knew about the two of us. Isn’t he the kindest of men?”
In unison, Julia’s right foot patted the hardwood floor and her fingers drummed on her lap. “Yes, I’m sure he’s very kind, but—”
“And ours is the loveliest romance in all creation. It would make a wonderful novel—like those dime novels you read. Hmm… Maybe you could write it down. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Julia’s tapping amplified. If she had to listen to the whole story of how they met…“I can’t wait to hear it, really.” Julia produced a smile. “But perhaps first you could tell me what those dresses were for. They look like travel dresses for the girls. Are they going somewhere?”
“Oh!” the blissful woman squeaked as if she were a train forced to come to a screeching stop. A silent moment followed, as the wheels churned in a different direction. “You mean I didn’t tell you what’s going to happen?” Her forehead crinkled and her eyes squinted.
“No, you just told us you were getting married. Then you left.”
“Strange. I thought I did.” She grasped Julia’s hands. “I’m so excited to tell you, Julia. It’s the perfect thing. Just perfect.”
Julia wanted to yell Just tell me! but clenched her teeth, fighting the outburst.
“Well, Julia, the girls are taking a great adventure. Mr. Gaffin, you know how rich he is. He doesn’t want me to work anymore, the dear man. So we’re selling the orphanage, and all the girls are going—oh, I’m too excited to even tell you!”
“Please, Mrs. Hamlin.” Julia pressed a hand to her stomach, sure she was going to be sick.
“They’re going out West on the orphan train!”
Julia gasped in surprise. “The orphan train?” Varied feelings barraged her, and she slumped under their weight. She reviewed everything she’d ever heard about the trains. The Children’s Aid Society—a Christian organization her own father had worked for—persuaded the big rail companies to transport destitute children away from the evils of the city. They believed the best place for an orphan was at the table of a farmer. Why hadn’t she thought of that? It’s just the sort of thing the headmistress would do.
Mrs. Hamlin tilted her head. “It’s for the best, I think. They’ll get out of this deplorable town for good. It’s no place for the poor, you know.”
Grateful her biggest fear—that the girls would be sent to another orphanage—was averted, other emotions rushed in, filling that fear’s place. She stared out the window.
Julia appreciated the rationale behind this choice. Sending the girls west to live in the vast countryside—where they could breathe fresh air, learn good, honest work, and be embraced by a family—was the best decision for everyone. She knew it was.
It was good the girls would have homes, families, yet a deep ache took root as she considered mornings without waking up to the sound of their laughter or heading to bed at night without the many whispered prayers.
More than that, she’d no longer be their caretaker. Julia placed a hand over her chest as if attempting to protect her heart. Yet she knew it would do little good.
The girls’ voices floated in and with each one—so familiar, so much a part of her life—Julia’s mind struggled to believe she would have to give the responsibility of their care to others. Her glance moved over the room as she took in the comfortable, happy home she’d resigned herself to living in for…well, forever. This place, the girls, Mrs. Hamlin—they were home to her. The only home she’d known since her parents’ deaths. How would she ever find a new one?
She kissed the headmistress’s hand. “You’ve done the right thing.”
Relief softened Mrs. Hamlin’s face. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me, Julia. I hope you don’t think me too selfish.”
Julia regarded the dear woman’s eyes, bordered with lines of laughter and love. “Of course not. I’m happy for you. For the girls.”
Plans and details for the coming days flooded Julia’s mind. She’d have to pack their things. What would they need? And who would see them safely to their new homes? Suddenly, nothing in her world seemed more important than traveling with the girls on the train, being their guardian one last time. She’d never have peace until she scrutinized the families for herself, made sure each girl was put into the care of upright, stable, and kind parents.
“Now.” Mrs. Hamlin lifted the heavy package, handing it to her. “Your gift.” The woman’s double chin bulged as an excited grin filled her round face. “You didn’t think I forgot you, did you?”
Julia received and opened the box. A beautiful blue wool flannel skirt, a new white silk blouse, and a light wool tan jacket—perfectly suited for travel—were arranged inside a sturdy leather valise. Also in the box was a fancy tan and blue parasol. Julia’s heart skipped. “Does this mean…?”
“You’re going with them!” Mrs. Hamlin handed her a ticket.
Julia embraced her again. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I couldn’t imagine letting them board the train without me.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” She clapped her hands. “I know how much you’ve wanted to go out West.”
Julia smiled. “I only wish my father could take the trip with me. He always wanted to, you know.”
“He’d be so proud of you, Julia.” Mrs. Hamlin touched Julia’s cheek. “You go, my dear, and experience all the things he never had the chance to.”
“I will…and then I’ll come back to New York City, and you.” An idea emerged in Julia’s mind. “Mrs. Hamli
n, when I come back, may I work in your new house? I could do whatever you wanted. Cook, clean, wait on you.”
Mrs. Hamlin’s eyes sparkled. “Of course. Of course you may stay with us. You know how I love you.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t return to you.” As long as Julia could cling to that assurance, she’d be able to face what was to come.
“But,” Mrs. Hamlin clutched Julia’s arm and tugged her closer, “I think you may not want to come back. You may find something even better on the prairie. Something involving romance, adventure—even love may surprise you.” Mrs. Hamlin let out a loud laugh, and Julia giggled along, unsure why.
Julia shook her head. “No, all I want is to see the girls safely to their new homes and then come back here…to my home.”
A clang sounded from the kitchen, and their cook emerged. “Soup! Soup!”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Hamlin said. “You’d better get those girls fed. We’ll talk some more later.”
“But…I have more questions.” Julia touched Mrs. Hamlin’s arm. “When is your wedding?”
Mrs. Hamlin folded up the brown papers. “Uh, let’s see, what’s today? Monday? Oh! It’s tomorrow! Yes, I love Tuesday weddings, don’t you? So much to do! Actually everything’s done, thanks to my dear Mr. Gaffin.”
A knock pounded on the door, interrupting them.
Julia eyed Mrs. Hamlin then stood and opened the door. A middle-aged couple appeared before her, their chins tilted upward and their eyes fixed beyond her as if she didn’t exist. The man wore a fine black suit with tails, and the woman’s dress rivaled anything Julia had ever seen, even in the Montgomery Ward catalog.
“We’re here for a Mrs. Hamlin,” the man announced. “Looking at the house.”
Julia showed them in and then motioned to the headmistress. “She’s right here.”
“Oh! You’re the folks thinking of buying the place.” Mrs. Hamlin shook their hands, then turned to Julia. “They want to make it into a dog and cat hospital. Isn’t that lovely?”